Interlude
by Simone Robinson
Summary: "- Mikey shut his eyes and listened to the words of comfort. Not too little. Not too much. Just Like Raph, "I'll neva hate ya, Mike. Could neva hate ya." But that was a very long time ago. And Mikey was tired now. -" A name. A fight. A family. A loss.


**Set before SAINW. After Donatello disappeared and before the Master Splinter incident.**

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**I **n t e r l u d e

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He is my most beloved friend and my bitterest rival, my confidant and my betrayer, my sustainer and my dependent, and scariest of all, my equal.

**Gregg Levoy**

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The mission had been an easy one.

Now he lay on the floor, still and too dazed to move. No. Not really dazed. Shocked. Tired. Drained. It was so much easier to just lean his head back and let the blood soak into the wood. His blood.

But it wasn't anything he hadn't felt before.

It wasn't a serious injury.

He'd live if he could summon the strength to push himself to his feet, pick himself up and stumble out of the building before he was found. Or before they blew the building up. They seemed to be favoring that recently.

Not that it mattered.

He wondered how Leo was holding up. Probably just fine. Leo was Leo after all. He'd be fine. He was always fine. Just a few minutes ago, Mikey had gripped at his brothers arm, eyes narrowed, heart pleading. Asking Leonardo to stay. They could find Raphael and get out of here. All of them together, in one piece.

But Leonardo had shaken his head and given him that smile that seemed to be firm, kind and patronizing all at once.

Michelangelo hated that smile when his brother turned and walked away from him. Walked away as his arm was wrenched from Mikey's sweat slicked hand.

Leo had known that he couldn't fight in his condition. But he'd gone in anyway, with no back up. Because it was Leonardo. Their big brother. Their leader. The one who was never allowed to waver. The one who was never allowed to loose faith and always had to remain strong. He had to be the one who saved all the innocents trapped in this building. So he'd trooped off to save the world by himself.

Now it was just Mikey. Sprawled on the floor of a forgotten room, caught in his own little web of surrealism.

He didn't know where Raph was. They'd gotten split from him earlier. No. That wasn't true. Raphael had split _himself_ from them. He'd gone his own way, ploughing through hoards and hoards of foot ninja. He'd disappeared, and Michelangelo didn't know where he'd gone.

But that was okay. Because Mikey never knew where his brother was these days. He'd disappear for days on end, and Mikey would watch the lines creep across Leonardo's face. And then one day, Raphael would just be back again. And for a moment, Leo looked like his old self again.

But Raphael never did. Each trip seemed to age him. Seemed to rub the grit into his skin, and pencil-in lines across his face. They almost looked like the ones Mikey used to draw with a permanent marker when he was young and dumb and stupid.

When he was young, everything had seemed alright. And names were just names, and nothing carried more than the connotation of a brother and all the feelings that went with them. Simple.

But some names were special.

Some names held carried more meanings than Mikey would ever let on.

Like one in particular.

A name that carried the meaning of tiny turtle tots, clinging to an elder brother, hugging onto his arms into the wee hours of the morning. When the night mares got too much and he's shout out the name, and burry his face into the crook of his arm, and wait until he could feel the arms around him, rubbing his shell and muttering gruff words of comfort.

But the nightmares had to be bad. Otherwise, there were other ways. Other comforts. His brother had to be needed. Above all others.

Mikey learnt that the hard way.

And when Mikey woke up, his brother was almost always gone. The sheets were left neatened, his tears dried, and there was no sign of anyone else. And Mikey could never remember when he'd fallen asleep.

Sometimes though, there were those moments of exhaustion, and he'd wake up to find himself wrapped in a sleepy hug, the face of his brother smooth in slumber. Those were the moments he lived for. Before they became prank material and blackmail. When they were still cute and innocent and meaningful.

And then when he got older, and he'd sit and watch a furious, irritable brother try and scrub the paint from his skin. And he'd look up, glaring daggers that promised a very slow, very painful punishment when he'd managed to get everything off, "Ya gotta learn ta be more consistent, Mike."

Mikey would just laugh, "Oh, like you? You're not consistent."

His brother would look up, as deadpan and serious as Mikey had ever seen him, "Yeah, I'm consistent." He'd chuck the scrubbing brush at Mike, "I'm an asshole all da time,"

And Mikey had just grinned because he knew all was forgiven, even though he'd get his shell handed to him next practice.

And the time when Mikey had raided Raph's beers even though he didn'teven_ like_ beer. And he'd sat and sobbed into the couch until his brother had come and sat beside him. Silently. Not commenting on anything.

And he'd listened as the alcohol had poured out the story. And no one should even have to _kill_ when they're that damn _young_. The first time was always the hardest.

And when it was all over, he'd sniffed and stared up at his brother with big eyes, "Raphie-boy…you'll never hate me right? Even if I'm a bad, stupid ninja who doesn't think and ends up ki- hurting someone and he can't fix anything cause he's so screwed up himself and—"

And Raphael had wrapped and arm around his shoulders and wrenched him against his side in a strong, one armed hug. And Mikey had shut his eyes and listened to the words of comfort. Just honest enough. Just gruff enough. Not too little. Not too much. Just Like Raph, "I'll neva hate ya, Mike. Could neva hate ya." Because they were brothers. As long as they were brothers, everything would be fine.

But that was a very long time ago. And Mikey was tired now.

But still, he pushed himself to his feet, his grip slipping a few times, the muscles in his arms shaking as he picked himself up.

_Pick yourself up. Dust yourself off. You'll be okay. You're always okay_.

Leo wasn't back yet. That was okay. He had to find Raph first. He had to stick with his brother so that they could find Leo, and otherwise get the hell out of there.

If there was one person who Mikey trusted to get out of there alive, it was Leonardo. He trusted Raphael's passion, his drive, his stubborn loyalty, just a little too much to leave him be.

Then again, his brother had always been the most stubborn bastard when it came to death. Never gave in. Reaper-man must be getting pretty frustrated by now. With Raph. With all of them.

So Mikey stumbled and ran through the corridors, gripping at his side and wondering why there weren't more foot attacking him.

Any Foot, actually.

When he'd finally found Raphael, his brother was covered in nicks and scrapes. But he was fine. He was unharmed. His big brother was safe.

"Mike. Where the hell's Leo?"

"Went back to the cells. He said he was gonna try and free them."

Raphael took a step forward, growling under his breath, "Ya let 'im go _alone_?"

"I'm not exactly gonna be a fat lot of help today, dude." Mikey gestured to his side. The pain was making his brain feel fuzzy. He couldn't think right.

Raphael scowled, "We aint just leavin' him."

"Come on." Mikey was starting to feel the effects of the warm air, "Leo said to meet him outside."

"Outside?" Raphael glanced behind him. He looked antsy, "How long ago was dat?"

"A while." Mikey glanced behind him too, the opposite way to Raphael, "We have to trust Leo." He was pleading. Leo wanted them safe. Leo was fine. Maybe he was trying to convince himself. Because he'd never leave a brother behind, and he knew that Raph wouldn't either. Mikey swallowed hard, "Raphie, we have to get out _now."_

Raph looked one way, then back at Mikey. He frowned and cursed and mumbled under his breath, "Shit. Leo's gonna skin me alive, 'f ya aint safe. I'm getting ya out, ya aint in no condition ta fight." He gripped Mikey's arm, glancing behind them, "But I'm goin' back fer 'im if he aint out within' five minutes."

Mikey's didn't argue, letting himself be ushered out. Wincing as the wound stretched and he was shoved into the clean, open air.

Mikey was gasping, whipping the sweat from his brow, "Raph…"

He never had the chance to finish his sentence. No sooner had he opened his mouth, then the explosion, the earth shattering, ground splitting explosion, swept them clean off their feet.

When the dust cleared, Raph scrambled to his feet and Mikey followed.

From the dust. From the buildings remains, he could see the shape of his brother.

Brother. That was a strong word.

Michelangelo watched. He stared with wide eyes as Leonardo came stumbling out, dark with dust and grime, covered in scrapes and the beginning of bruises. He wanted to move forward. He wanted to run and hold Leonardo. But for some reason, he couldn't seem to move. It was like his feet were cemented to the floor. He could _feel _himself moving, but he just _wasn't_.

Raphael though, didn't seem to have that problem. He was at Leonardo's side in an instant, an arm hooked beneath Leo's, gripping him, supporting him. Muttering something that Mikey couldn't quite catch.

Michelangelo just stared at Leonardo's hands, how they clutched at his eyes, trying desperately to stem the blood flow. Tiny crumbs of debris and glass fell through his fingertips, nicking his skin.

But Leonardo took no notice, and Mikey couldn't blame him.

Raphael was trying to pry his hands away, but Leonardo was shaking his head. He looked torn between the strong, capable leader and a petulant child, refusing to get an injection at his first doctors visit.

But this would not be Leo's first injury. Nor his last.

Michelangelo felt his stomach turn. He could smell the blood from here, with the ash and dirty air stench.

Raphael was now moving towards him, hauling a limping, stumbling Leonardo with him. He looked at Mikey, long and hard. There was something there that Mikey had never seen before. A potent, bubbling accusation. Blame. Anger.

Maybe even a little regret.

And he was sorry. Sorry that things were so messed up. Sorry that things would never be okay again.

And Mikey reached out, his hand brushing Raphael's arm, "Raphie-"

His brother jerked away, as if he'd been burned, "Don't call me that." He hissed. His voice was cold. His eyes burnt. But Mikey could feel the anger. He'd call it hate. But Raphael said he would never hate him. Right? Wasn't that what he'd promised all those years ago?

So Michelangelo stood, clutching at his side, with his feet rooted in cement. He was watching his brothers walk away.

So he shut his eyes.

Because he couldn't bare to watch his world start spinning.

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**What did you think?**


End file.
